


Arrest

by AHumanFemale, Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Episode Related, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 16:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13594344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHumanFemale/pseuds/AHumanFemale, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: 1. To seize, capture; specifically, to take or keep in custody by authority of the law;or2. To bring to a stop.





	Arrest

**Author's Note:**

> When we saw the first preview for this week's upcoming episode, we knew we wanted to write our own take on the circumstances alluded to in the preview. We started this before any subsequent clips from the episode had been released, and as such, this isn't 100% compliant with what we now know to be the circumstances of the case in Wednesday's episode.
> 
> That's fine by us, because our aim was to write something we'd prefer to see over whatever will be in Wednesday's episode.
> 
> Other than that, usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!
> 
> xoxo, AHF and RH

When Carisi approached the space outside Barba’s office, it was with a lead weight sitting low in his gut. 

Blood roaring in his ears, jaw clenched.  The inescapable grip of something icy around his heart.  He would have loved to take a deep breath, would have loved to achieve some sense of clarity in the space between his lungs taking what they needed and his heart pumping anew, but it never came.  His chest never expanded past what it would have taken him to inhale the bare minimum and he was left with shallow breaths and the faint haze of something ugly in the air as he spied the glass in Barba’s hand. 

Barba wasn’t drunk.

Carisi wasn’t sure he’d actually know if Barba was drunk, but he didn’t seem to be.  No glassy eyes, only the faintest flush to his face.  He still looked dazed but not in a way that suggested intoxication.  Deep in thought, maybe.  Almost definitely deep in thought.  The fact that he wasn’t shitfaced was surprising, considering.  Carisi watched through the glass door and couldn’t bring himself to worry about invading Barba’s privacy.  Not for this, anyway.  Knocking on the door might have been the hardest thing he’d ever forced himself to do but still he managed, a cadence significantly slowed from his usual.  Unrecognizable, probably, judging by the way Barba stiffened at the sound of it. 

“It’s me,” he offered once he’d opened the door and was gratified to see Barba relax again. 

“Detective,” Barba greeted, though it sounded resigned. “Ahead of everyone else, as per usual.”

Carisi wished the compliment would take away the churning in his gut.  “Didn’t expect to find you here,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“Where else would I be?” Barba asked, though it sounded rhetorical.  He looked past him and seemed surprised.  “No backup, Carisi?  That seems ill-informed.”

So he knew why Carisi was there.

“Nah.  I’m not planning on needing it.”

Barba nodded absently, eyes front and center.

“They made it to Baltimore,” Carisi offered, intending to be kind rather than accusatory.  “He’s in the custody of the Johns Hopkins pediatric unit.  The chances still aren’t good but, uh… but they’re keeping him.  The hospital has temporarily taken custody in light of everything else.”

“And the mother?” Barba asked absently.

“In police custody for kidnapping and custodial interference.”

Barba nodded, bringing his glass up to his lips again.  He took a long pull and Carisi watched the line of his throat work, wondering now if Barba really had gotten drunk and was just pretty good at hiding it.

“You feel like telling me why?” he asked.

“Why what?” Barba asked and set the glass back town, turning in his chair to look at Carisi.

“Why did you go to the hospital after the father requested the TRO?” he asked, inching closer.  “Why did you warn her?  Why did you leave the hospital and go to Forlini’s for two hours instead of straight to the judge?”

“How—”

“What, you think I don’t know where you go to kill time?” Carisi asked, baffled.  “How long have we worked together?”

Barba offered a poor imitation of a smirk.  “Just long enough, it seems.”

“I confirmed with the hostess, got receipts from the bartender.”  Carisi shoved his hands in his pockets, trying desperately to hide how they were shaking.  “You sat and drank, that TRO in your briefcase, while Mrs. Householder forged her husband’s signature on all the transfer paperwork and had her son flown to Baltimore for treatment his father didn’t want for him.”

“I didn’t _just_ drink,” Barba interrupted pettily.  “If I’m not mistaken I ordered something to eat.”

“Yeah.  Something you didn’t touch, which your waitress remembered because she thought something might have been wrong with it.”

Barba frowned. “Traitor,” he groused.  “I shouldn’t have left her such a good tip.”

“Which she also remembered,” Carisi pointed out.  “I feel like I should tell you that when you’re trying to hide out, making yourself memorable probably isn’t a great idea.”

“Noted,” Barba murmured, with just a flicker of a smile that faded far too soon.  “Although somehow I doubt I’ll have the opportunity to repeat my mistakes.”

Carisi sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Barba…”

“I had a sister,” Barba interrupted and Carisi stopped.  “Did you know that?”

_Had_. 

“No,” he answered.  “No, I didn’t.  Considering you act very much like an only child.”

The subtle dig didn’t work.  Barba only tipped his head back to rest against the chair and stared at the ceiling.

“Camila,” he said.  “I was seven when she was born.  She was… awful, at first.”  Carisi blinked in surprise.  “I was used to having my parents to myself.  Used to uninterrupted sleep, free of wailing in the middle of the night,” he said with a hint of a smile.  “I was barely allowed to touch her, she wasn’t allowed to play with me, and she couldn’t hold any kind of conversation.  What use does a seven-year-old have for that?”

“Not much,” Carisi agreed, having been told how terrible it was for his sisters to deal with him as a baby when they weren’t allowed to treat him like one of their dolls. 

He moved closer, as close as he always wanted to be when it was Barba involved. 

Perched on the edge of his desk just as he had so many times before, so close that he could reach out and touch. 

So close that Barba could touch him, if he wanted. 

“She was this small, dark, bawling thing that held all my parents’ attention and only wanted to be held by my grandfather,” he recalled.  “By the time she was a few months old we all understood that something was wrong.  That she was sick.  She struggled to breathe, always had some kind of infection going on.”

He cleared his throat, picked his head up again.

“By the end she was oxygen dependent, hadn’t been home in months.  She died when she was eleven months old of a pneumonia she’d had for two months.”  Barba sighed.  Long and painful, as though he were trying to expel the heartbreak out of ruined lungs.  “It… it tore us apart.  My father started drinking, he stayed angry.  He broke things, threw whatever he could get his hands on if he was in the mood.  My mother was distant.  My grandfather died less than two months later and my grandmother always said it was so Camila wouldn’t be alone.”

Carisi felt tears prick his eyes.

He couldn’t imagine the strain grief could put on a family.  Much less when the grief was over a baby, someone who hadn’t had a chance to live in the first place.  Somehow it was all too easy to see Rafael Barba then — seven years old and only barely able to grasp what was happening or why his family was disappearing in front of his eyes.

His sister, gone as quickly as she’d come.

His father a different man.

His mother, withdrawn.

His grandfather gone.

All buckling under the weight of sorrow so heavy it couldn’t be borne.

Carisi couldn’t help but feel like another piece of the man had fallen into place and he suppressed the urge to reach out, to offer a comforting touch if not to the seven-year-old boy who had lost everything than to the man in front of him now, the man who seemed just as lost and bewildered.

“The prognosis is better now,” Barba told him, with some attempt at comfort — though whether for himself or Carisi, he couldn’t quite tell.  “Life expectancy was nothing but a few months back then and now some are able to live into their thirties and forties.  Not a cure, but… treatment.”

Treatment they hadn’t had access to.

“I understand,” Carisi said softly, as though it would make a difference. 

“My mother and I will forever live with the question of who Camila would have been if treatment had been available in that time,” Barba told him, eyes clear and direct for the first time since Carisi walked in the door several minutes ago.  “The regret, the what-ifs, could destroy them.  I did what I did so that when it comes time for that little boy to pass, they will know they did everything in their power.”

“I know,” Carisi told him.  “I know you did what you thought was right.  I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

“I’d do it again.”

“I know you would,” he answered honestly.  “But now it’s time to get out in front of this.”  His tone turned urgent, just a touch desperate.  “Come with me, come forward.  Turn yourself in.  Work out a deal with the prosecution to testify against Mrs. Householder.  Do the right thing before 1PP has the chance to make an example out of you.  Maybe it won’t… maybe it won’t be so bad.”

_Maybe it won’t be a felony_ , his brain supplied.

_Maybe they won’t talk about jail time._

He swallowed.

_Maybe I won’t lose you._

He couldn't even believe himself.

“You’re right,” Barba said and Carisi almost did a double take.  Barba managed a wry grin.  “Try not to let that go to your head.  If it gets too big I won’t be able to use it for legal advice.”

Carisi scoffed. “Wait, so you’d actually—”

His attempt at levity was spoiled by the sound of a door crashing open, slamming against the wall behind it and startling them both.  Carisi’s hand was on his gun before he’d even thought about it but he never made a move to unholster it, not with Chief Dodds’ severe blue gaze leveled in his direction.  Two uniformed offers stood behind him, stoic and pointedly looking past Carisi to stare at Barba.  He felt the irrepressible need to move over and block their line of sight.

“Mr. Barba,” Dodds said, something curt in his tone.

“Chief,” Barba acknowledged with a jerky nod of his head, but Carisi watched his hand curl into a fist against his desk.  “Can I help you with something?”

Under different circumstances, Carisi might’ve laughed, but as it was, he sucked in a breath as he watched Dodds’ expression darken.  “I’m not really in the mood for humor,” Dodds said, almost warningly.  “You know why we’re here.  You helped a woman kidnap her son, going directly against the order of protection that you neglected to file with the court.”  He paused.  “That’s a crime, Counselor.”

“Thank you, Chief, since after working as an ADA in New York County for the past seven years, I was confused on the legality.”  Barba was laying the sarcasm on thick, not that Carisi could fully blame him.

But he also knew it was unlikely to help his case.

“Chief,” he interrupted, half-stepping in front of Barba, the move more instinct than anything else, “there’s no need for this.  I was just talking with Barba and—”

“Carisi beat you here with the same purpose,” Barba interjected, giving Carisi a warning look, and he shrank back, understanding even without words that Barba was trying to stop him from saying anything else, to stop him from alluding to any discussion they may have had.

Any warning Carisi might’ve given him.

Or any collusion between them.

But Dodds’ expression had soured further.  “I sincerely hope you weren’t discussing the details of an ongoing investigation with a suspect, Det. Carisi,” he said shortly.  “Not that it matters — you’re off the case.  I should’ve taken the case from SVU from the get but I just assumed Lt. Benson was the only one close enough to Barba to jeopardize this.”

Barba glowered at him.  “Det. Carisi didn’t jeopardize anything,” he snapped.  “He came here to do his job, and to arrest me.”  He lifted his chin defiantly.  “Because I committed a crime.”

Carisi only just managed to stop himself from blurting for Barba to stop talking, to call a lawyer, but it was too late anyway.  Something like triumph flashed in Dodds’ expression.  “That’s all I need to hear.”  He locked eyes with Carisi.  “Now that you have your confession, you can do the honors, Detective.”

Carisi’s heart plummeted, and he could tell that all the color drained from his face.  “Chief,” he started, quietly, his voice pained.  “Chief, he was turning himself in.  He’s not resisting.  Don’t—”

_Don’t make me do this_.

“You’re free to go and let one of these officers take him in, of course,” Dodds said calmly, as if he knew exactly what Carisi was feeling, and as if he couldn’t have cared less.  “But, Detective, if you do, I expect you to leave your badge behind.”

Carisi blinked, his hand automatically twitching toward the shield that had sat on his hip for so long that he would feel naked without it, and his throat tightened.  He was tempted, more than he would ever admit, to take his badge and throw it in Dodds’ face, to tell him that this wasn’t the justice he had sworn to uphold, that Barba was a better man by far than Chief Dodds could ever know.

“Sonny.”

Something of what he had been feeling must have shown on his face for Barba to say his name that way, soft but firm, a command that even after all this time, Carisi was helpless to obey.

“Sonny, it’s ok.”

Barba was already out of his chair, straightening his waistcoat and smoothing his tie.  He collected his jacket from the back of his chair and put it on, buttoning it, each gesture slow, almost leisurely.

A man holding his head up for his last stand.

Then he took a step forward, putting himself between Carisi and Dodds, and put his hands behind his back.

Carisi had to blink back the sudden sting of tears, struck by the surreality of the situation.  The unfairness of the best lawyer — the best _man_ — he knew being led away in handcuffs for doing what he thought was right.

He would never have let one of the uniformed officers touch Barba, not after Terrence Reynolds, not after Munson, not after Heredio.  But any hope he had left that this might end with Barba walking out of his office of his own volition had disappeared.

Carisi couldn’t begin to protect him past this point, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t at least try, at least for a little bit longer.

Even if he wished he never had to in the first place.

“Detective?”

Barba was looking back at him evenly, his expression neutral and calm, and Carisi wanted nothing more than to cross to him, to cup his cheek, to brush a thumb across his cheekbone as he assured him that everything was going to be ok.  To tell him that he loved him, because even if he had never quite mustered the courage before this, it was increasingly likely that he wasn’t going to get another chance.

But the words stuck in his throat.

Instead, his fingers trembled as he reached for his cuffs, and he closed the space between him and Barba for a vastly different reason.  He caressed his thumb over Barba’s wrist only once before the first cuff was placed.

“Rafael Barba, you’re under arrest for criminal facilitation in the second degree and conspiracy in the third degree.  You have the right—”

His voice broke.

He just couldn’t believe that the words were coming out of his mouth, that his handcuffs were on Barba’s wrists, that he was Mirandizing him.

That he was arresting him.

Barba looked back at him again, and the look in his eyes was so soft that Carisi’s heart almost broke clean in two at the sight.  “You have to start over,” Barba told him gently.  “Legally.  You need to start over.”

Carisi ducked his head and blinked back the tears that swam in his eyes.

Then he exhaled and met Barba’s eyes again.

“Rafael Barba, you’re under arrest for criminal facilitation in the second degree and conspiracy in the third degree.  You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.  You have the right to an attorney.  If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.  Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”

“Yes.”

Barba barely breathed the word, but it was enough.

Carisi nodded jerkily and moved his hand from Barba’s wrists to rest on the crook of his arm.  “C’mon,” he muttered, looking up to glare at Dodds for putting him in this situation, for forcing him to perp walk Barba through the halls of One Hogan Place.  They started toward the door, pausing only long enough for Carisi to bark, “Move!” at Dodds, who was still standing in front of the door.

Dodds’ expression darkened from the almost self-satisfied look he wore, and Carisi knew he would pay for the word later at some point.

But his hand was still resting on Barba’s arm — in some hazy part of his mind, he realized this was the longest they’d ever touched — and he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

To Barba’s credit, he held his head high the entire walk through One Hogan Place, walking down those halls with a touch of his usual swagger despite the handcuffs shining on his wrists.  “Don’t worry, Detective,” he said in a low voice.  “Most of these people have pictured me in handcuffs at least once.  Some significantly moreso.”

Carisi inhaled sharply, about to demand how Barba could even _consider_ making jokes right now, but then he caught sight of Barba’s face, of the strained, slightly haunted expression, and he knew in an instant that Barba was making the joke for his benefit, and his heart clenched painfully.

“Well, heaven forbid you disappoint them,” he managed, a pale imitation of their usual banter, but it was all he could manage.

A sad smile flashed across Barba’s face.

It was gone all too soon.

When they got outside, Carisi slowed, hesitating between his car and the squad car parked in front of it, its lights flashing.

For some reason, the sight of the flashing lights made this entire thing feel more real.

Dodds cleared his throat from behind him.  “We can take him from here, Detective,” he said, and Carisi glanced back at him, surprised to see something almost sympathetic in his expression.

A kindness, perhaps, offering to spare Carisi from the rest.

Or perhaps not.

“I got it, Chief,” Carisi said gruffly.  “It’s my collar. I’ll see it through to the end.”

Just as there was no way Carisi would’ve let one of the unis put a hand on Barba before, there was no way he was going to let them put Barba in their car now.  He couldn’t let Barba out of his sight, not yet — not when this may very well be one of the last times he got to see him.

For a moment, it looked like Dodds might argue, but then he just shrugged and nodded.  Carisi took that as all the permission he needed, and he tugged Barba toward his car.  Almost he opened the front passenger door before he caught his mistake, and his heart broke a little more as he walked him a few more steps to the backseat.

He opened the door and helped Barba inside before closing the door softly.

Then he took a deep, shuddering breath, and squared his shoulders before crossing to the driver’s side and getting in.

He started the car and then looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting Barba’s.  “Rafael—”

“I know,” Barba said, with a sad sort of smile.  He sighed and leaned his head back.  “When we get to the precinct, after you take me to booking, will you call my mother?  I only get one call and it probably should be to a lawyer, but my mother—”

For the first time all evening, his voice broke.  “I don’t want her to hear it on the news.”

Carisi closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the now all-too familiar sting of tears, and he couldn’t manage anything more than a nod.

They spent the drive to the 16th precinct in silence.  Or at least, Barba was silent. Carisi couldn’t even begin to imagine what was running through his brain.

For his own part, he spent the drive devising increasingly impossible scenarios, solutions that would somehow, against all odds, get Barba out of this.  As he pulled up in front of the station, he even entertained the wild thought of just uncuffing Barba and letting him make a run for it.

But he knew it would just make it worse.

So instead he cut the engine, and he walked around the car, and he opened the door and helped Barba out.  His hand settled into its position on Barba’s elbow, and he glanced at him.  “You ready for this?”

“I don’t think I have much choice.”

Barba sounded so much less brave here, looking up at the precinct, and Carisi swallowed, hard, and moved to stand ever so slightly in front of him.

A barrier, a shield — the last chance Carisi had to protect him as he led him up the steps of the precinct.

He escorted Barba to booking, and the uni at intake looked almost bored as Carisi cleared his throat and gave him the details in an undertone to get Barba signed in.

“Mr. Barba,” the intake officer sighed, getting out of his seat, “you’ll need to follow me—”

“Wait.”

Carisi hadn’t meant to blurt it, but he couldn’t help himself.  His hands were shaking again, his heart was racing, and the only concrete thought he could form was that he _needed more time_.

“Please,” he added, after a moment.  “Give us just a minute.”

The officer looked like he wanted to point out that this wasn’t protocol, but then he shrugged and stepped away, giving Barba and Carisi some semblance of privacy.

Barba looked up at him, looking tired and a little bit defeated.  “I’m sorry that you got dragged into this,” he said softly.  “But I’m not sorry for what I did.”

Carisi ducked his head and managed a weak chuckle, though it sounded harsh to his own ears.  “I expected nothing less.”

Then he looked back at Barba, meeting his eyes steadily.  There were so many things that he wanted to say to him, things he’d told himself that there would be time enough to say, things he’d talked himself out of saying with the argument that it was the wrong time.

Now it looked like there might never be a right time.

And if they were different people, if this were a different moment, Carisi could easily see himself closing the space between them and kissing Barba with every fiber of his being, kissing hm as if he would never let him go, kissing him as if the kiss could say everything that he had never been able to bring himself to say.

But they weren’t.

And it wasn’t.

So instead, he took a step back, and he nodded to the booking officer, who stepped forward and took Barba’s elbow.  “I’ll call your ma,” Carisi told Barba, the words sounding hollow to his ears.

“Thank you,” Barba said.

Carisi knew he meant it for more than just that.

“Sonny—” Barba started, something flickering in his expression, but Carisi shook his head.

They couldn’t do this.

Not here.

Not now.

“‘I’ll let Liv know,” he said instead.  “And, uh—”

“I know.”

There was so much more that Carisi wanted to say.

Instead, he had to watch as the booking officer led Barba down the hallway.

And he had to turn and walk numbly back to his own desk.

He needed to call Barba’s mother, he needed to call Liv and tell her what was going on, he needed to come up with an answer for Amanda, who was looking at him with genuine concern, but Carisi allowed himself a moment to just sit and stare into space.

For the first time all day, he didn’t bother trying to blink away the tears he could feel pricking in his eyes.  He didn’t bother hiding the way his hands shook as he ran one through his hair.  He didn’t bother hiding the pain that he was sure flashed across his expression as he remembered the sight of Barba being led away from him.

For a moment, he let himself feel it all.

Then he took a deep breath, and he picked up the phone.


End file.
